


ladyfingers

by yellolemon



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Smut, but nothing explicit, if you squint..., pretty much just a blurb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellolemon/pseuds/yellolemon
Summary: it was the summer of 1959.you found george cracking his browned knuckles and rolling around in the thick grasses of the city park in mid-spring and vowed to show him the good life.you've spent nearly every day together since then.[lowercase]
Relationships: George Harrison/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	ladyfingers

[warning: mention of blood]

your skin blushed under each careful stroke of his hesitant knuckles. smiling down at you, he radiated an anxious teenage lust not quite unlike your own silly buzzing. you wiggled wantonly as he unlaced the damp bikini bottoms from your hips and pulled them down your legs. your skin soon flowered for him, taking the form of teasing goosebumps crawling up your thighs and hips. his wet tongue dipped into you just as your bare toes had done when they tested the blue of the cold spring not far from your country home. you watched him dive around happily, arching his back and twisting his feet beneath the water before splashing his head up and beaming at you. he looked the same way when your sweet delicacy coated his lips and he slipped his eager fingers inside of you, swimming in the waves of your juvenile acts of pleasing.

it was the summer of 1959. you found george cracking his browned knuckles and rolling around in the thick grasses of the city park in mid-spring and vowed to show him the good life. you've spent nearly every day together since then.

your parents adored him and called him baby names like georgie and sweetheart. they repelled any mention of his dropping out of school and swatted away the utterly prolific rumors of his performing in a rock n' roll band like they were horseflies against a sweaty newspaper. but you indulged him. you sucked in his vile vapors on the branches of skinny olive trees behind your house and blew the smoke into his face, austere, and excited, and beautiful. he hadn't known anybody as wealthy as you before.

‧✧̣̇‧

he observed your puckered lips as they sucked golden honey from a limp paper straw and watched the same saccharine lips lather his hip bones with spit when you pleasured him on your daisy colored sheets in the late afternoon. you sighed when the straw wilted between your sticky fingers and as his hips bucked against the warmth of your mouth. he never could afford the luxury of either; a jar of fresh honey or the gentle grazing of a lover's teeth against his tiny thighs. he, too, wilted beneath your charitable embrace.

‧✧̣̇‧

"you've got ladyfingers..." his hands smoothed against yours and turned them around like a little book in his palms, smiling. you eyed him quizzically, a curious smirk appearing over your lips.

"ladyfingers? what makes them so different from yours?" 

he brought them to his face and told you plainly, "they're prettier." you giggled at him and swiped your hands away from his grip, setting them in your lap sheepishly. that left him stunned. he'd never known you to be bashful before. he hadn't realized that you were struck with that sudden melancholy he'd clutch days later. you knew he had to leave you. summer would winter and the winter would spring, but he would be long gone before you were sent to school again. it was pure folly to wish for anything different, but you were too full of your own foolish captivation of the fanged musician to assail the pride deep within your youthful belly.

you stood up from the grassy field and shook out the long skirt of your dress, dusting it free of any grime. he watched you, head tilted back into the radiant eyes of the sun. his eyes squinted and in that yellow haze, he noticed a glorious pink angel before him. quickly, like any other boy his age when they first witness a creature so beguiling, he wanted to love you. like his father did his mother, and the black tides did the moon.

"i wish you would play your guitar for me, geo. will you play for me?"

a sunny smile tugged on the tanned skin of his cheeks and crinkled his little eyes. in its contagiousness, it soon found its way to your wistful face. "yes."

‧✧̣̇‧

you turned seventeen in his arms and watched the winds carry the white stars away from the open window in your bedroom. he rolled onto your homely chest and made love to you earnest while your parents slept on the other side of the wall. he wouldn't stop shaking as your quiet moans kissed his ear and breathed life against his lips. dried like summer prunes. it was your first time. it was his. he kissed you until the pain subsided and when you awoke in the embrace of the pale sunrise, he rubbed your hips and belly and walked with you to rinse your bloodied sheets in the bathtub where those daisies became dark roses.  


"i'm sorry..." he whispered.

"it's okay," you replied.

he held you close to his chest when you both stood again and your knees quivered as it dawned on you that he had given you his everything. it was deafening; the weight of your sudden metamorphosis. you kissed his lips with strong gratitude, squeezing his sides and knocking your feet against his shins as you backed him into the bathroom wall and fluttered your love against him a second time.

he drove away in the backseat of his family's car with his stomach full of homemade strawberry cake and his hands preoccupied with the memory of what it felt like to spread your splendid thighs and to be loved by the tonicity of your rosy womanhood. his cheeks ached to be caressed by you again, they burned to be kissed once more. he picked at his dirtied fingernails when his father asked him what he did over that weekend you shared, just like he did the others that came before it. with a shrug, he spoke of the feast of rainbow garden vegetables and the bees you chased beyond the boulders that protected the meadow in your backyard. he told him that you laughed at his every joke and your eyes shined like his mother's and that your bathroom had two porcelain sinks that spewed out clear, glistening streams. that you never wore shoes, but you had the prettiest ones he'd ever seen. that you liked him a lot. he never told him about the swimming or the honey a few weeks prior or the way you told him that you could feel him slipping deeper and grabbed at his back for release... 

he wouldn't really be interested in that kind of stuff.

‧✧̣̇‧

it rained when you said your goodbyes. when he was set on joining his friends in hamburg. you supposed the downpour would shield the mask of tears that adorned your face, but it only became more apparent in each spout of your stuttering words. your parents peered at you from the door while you kissed in the graveled driveway, your muddy feet standing atop the rubber boots he wore. his arms clung to your dress as it soiled beneath his hands and his heavy breath was the only source of warmth between you. then he was swept away by a metal carriage pursuing the roads beyond the flood. destined for germany.

he sent you letters when the fall came and you read them beside your porridge full of cinnamon and snuck them into your shoes as you laced them before school.

...you should come see us play. he wrote.

mother would never let me... you replied.

in the garden, he played for you. played every song he knew. and in turn, you walked him through foreign galleries in the city and sat with him by the blue river in the moonlight. you talked and ate and sang and danced. he made your house his home and he made your heart his bed.

maybe you hoped he would forget about his music so that you would never have to watch the clouds alone. when you bent your gaze to the skies at night, he was always twinkling up there, reminding you of the one thing you still shared.

you told your mother that her georgie was a star. and if he wasn't one yet, he sure as hell would be.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by the song ladyfingers by herb alpert  
> as well as jean de florette, a french film i saw a month or so ago.  
> maybe even al pacino's journey through sicily in the godfather, too..


End file.
